Can't Help But Wonder..

I can't sleep tonight. It's just this trail of thoughts that keeps me awake. Nothing serious. Thoughts seem to come to me one after the other and I notice that in the darkness of my room and the little blue light from my speaker that illuminates it minimally, a weird shadow imprinted on the ceiling. It's my left hand over there! Excited by this sudden gush of child-like curiosity, I start painting my ceiling with the short-lived shadows I can create with my hands acting like some manipulative but sincere pair of models. Folding, bending, twisting both my hands to cast a shadow like that of a little rabbit, a dog (with no noticeable change from the rabbit's), a stone (easiest), a moving evil eye (by joining the index finger with the thumb, aligning the other three fingers behind the index finger and using the thumb of the other hands to move between it's corners to make it look like the moving iris of the eye keeping track of every movement inside the room), makes me really believe in a sort of a mystical randomness.



It's getting cold these days and I need a blanket to put me off to sleep. I keep the fan switched on though. My feet are all cold and numb. I don't like it one bit, this way. So I jolt up to cover them properly (and this time, with great caution because I really do want to go off to sleep and dream until the end of time). You know, the thing is... I hate to think knowingly.

So there I am lying on my bed like a log with no apparent movement, trying really hard to concentrate on black and desperately waiting for Mr. Sandman to do his job on me. As I lie here staring at my pillow kept next to me, I feel...

"...Wait a second!" I say to myself, realizing that my pillow lay beside me and not under my head like it is for most people. So, I stare at my pillow thinking how lonely it must feel just lying there all by itself as if it is not required. I kinda know this feeling. It's familiar. Like a déjà vu, I picture myself as this little girl patting her small little pillow as if it were her dog then pressing the fast forward button, and jumping ahead a few years from then, I see this exact picture of me holding my pillow, asking if it got hurt when under my head.


Over the years I have changed relatively and I consider myself a way more matured person than I was then so why is that even now, after ten long years this feeling to only feel for the scientifically 'non-living' remains? I chuckle at myself in that darkest light like a vamp from some TV serial and look at my pillow scornfully and say it in my head "Yeah, I remember.."

...

I am this stupid psycho who has never had a pillow under her head from the time she first felt sorry for her pillow and apologized for having hurt him (!?). This feeling is not new. I have been a girl who has been feeling sorry for her pillows all her life.

Mystical randomness, is it?